Author's Note: I love it when people flame my stories, telling me that I'm too illiterate to be writing on here, while spelling every other word wrong. It just brightens my day. How about you? Also, the romance should start around chapter ten. I'm not quite sure, but that sounds about right. Sorry if I'm off. I'll try to keep you entertained until then though.
Disclaimer: Mine? Seriously? Right…
Warning: Language. Violence. Slash. Non-slash.
(***Harry Potter***)
Harry looked at Buckbeak with a soft smile. The old Hippogriff was just what the doctor ordered. Dinner had just ended, his homework was near finished, and he still had an hour until detention. All Harry wanted to do was fly. Sure, it would have been easier to simply retrieve his Firebolt and head to the Quidditch Pitch, but soaring through the air, bareback on Buckbeak just felt so much more invigorating. One could never understand just how artificial a broomstick was unless they understood magic, and the only one besides Hermione and he that understood was Ollivander. Then again, how could a wand maker not understand? Ollivander was the only other wizard that Harry knew with pure magic. Of course, the wand maker hadn't been born with pure magic like Harry had. In all actuality, the old man had found Harry's situation peculiar. Ollivander hadn't nullified his magic until he was fifty-seven. It usually took seventeen to nineteen years for pure magic to fully take effect. By 'take effect' Harry meant that the magic completed the body, eliminating the effects of time itself. Basically, it meant that if Harry didn't choose a side soon, he would become immortal.
When a wizard is born, they have a magical core. Every magical core is made up of pure magic, which keeps the wizard alive. Impure magic forms at birth, depending on the surrounding environment and the personality in which the wizard takes. The body itself has pure magic sown into it, as all bodies do. As the impure magic eats away at the pure magical core, the magical core pulls more pure magic from the body, which results in what most people call 'aging.' Harry was just glad that he had met Ollivander to find this out. Ollivander was just as happy, as he had never met another pure wizard in all of his three hundred and sum years of living. The only reason that Ollivander knew was because of books which he had found throughout the years. Harry enjoyed visiting the man as often as he could. Emerald green eyes opened to see the world rushing by. A soft, joyful laugh escaped Harry's throat as he leaned forward, uncurling and re-curling his hands in Buckbeak's fur. The wind ruffled his hair like a million little hands caressing him, pushing at him. Harry leaned forward until his head was next to Buckbeaks, until he wasn't sure whether the wind was flying past him or he was flying past the wind. Buckbeak dove down, pulling up just before hitting the ground, a Wronski Feint in its own right. Again, Harry laughed, fully aware that his time in the sky was running out. Minutes later, Buckbeak landed, his paws hitting the ground softly. Harry hugged Buckbeak close, whispering a thanks for the ride, before dismounting. A quick Tempus told him that he had ten minutes to get from the edge of the Forbidden Forest down to the Snape's classroom in the dungeons. That wasn't good. An instant later, Harry was running through the grounds of Hogwarts as fast as he could, thanking Merlin for his Quidditch training. Eleven minutes later, Harry burst through the doors of Professor Snape's classroom.
"You're late, Mr. Potter." Harry frowned in between panting. He had tried so hard, too. "An extra hour for both of you should teach Mr. Potter about punctuality, don't you think?" Ron's mouth went agape as Snape extended their punishment.
"But- but- but I was on time!" Ron's indignant shout earned him a down-the-nose glare from Snape along with three sneered words.
"Make that two." Ron looked ready to protest Snape's words again, but Harry quickly stopped him with an elbow to the stomach. It didn't matter that Harry didn't have much homework left to do; sleep was a necessity. Snape watched them with nearly black eyes. He didn't look amused. "You, Mr. Weasley, are to clean every cauldron in this room until they are spotless. You, Mr. Potter, are to sort every ingredient on that table into their proper containers. I will return at midnight. Am I understood or must I use smaller words so that your small, underdeveloped brains can comprehend my instructions?" Snape's low voice drew out his words, allowing the insult time to sink in. Well, it sunk into Harry. Ron looked as if the Potions Master had just been speaking Latin. Harry quickly nodded, before Ron could do something stupid and get them more time. Snape looked them over once more, giving a last sneer before walking away, his cloak billowing behind him. Ron immediately turned to Harry, his face turning red with anger.
"Why the bloody hell did you hit me! And why'd he give you the easy job!" Harry tried to move past Ron, but the taller boy didn't concede.
"I hit you because you were going to get us stuck here all night, and my job isn't any easier." Once more, Harry tried to move past Ron, but, once more, Ron moved with him.
"If it's not any easier then switch with me!" Ron's already high voice upped half of an octave.
"Ron, you know we can't do that. You don't even know what half of the ingredients are!" All Harry wanted was for Ron to understand so that they could get started. With the many ingredients filling up the tables, Harry would have been extremely lucky to finish by midnight if he had started as soon as he had come in. Ron's light blue eyes darted over to the many tables of assorted items.
"So? I can- can look them up or something!" Harry, seeing that Ron wasn't anywhere near ready to give in, did something that he knew Hermione would be yelling at him for later. Silently, wandlessly, Harry cast the Imperius curse on Ron. It didn't matter that Dumbledore had put up wards against such things. Nothing could stop pure magic. Instantaneously, the light left Ron's eyes, leaving him blank to the world.
"Clean the cauldrons without magic. All of them must be done at least five minutes before midnight." Harry watches without guilt as Ron opens his mouth, as if to say something, before just nodding dumbly and turning to do his job. The Boy-Who-Lived didn't watch to see if he would actually clean. He had no doubts about the power of his magic. Not even Lucius Malfoy would be able to resist if Harry cast the Imperius curse on him, and the Head of the Malfoy House was one of the most willful men that Harry knew. With a sigh, Harry walked over to begin his job.
(***Tom Riddle***)
Tom watched Harry through the recently discovered link between their minds. Long after Harry had left, a trickle of his magic had remained; magic that Tom was so familiar with. He had always just assumed that it was the natural magic of the earth, but after feeling the young Savior's magic, that was obviously not the case. So he searched his mind, taking only minutes to find the small link. A few moments more and Tom found a way to concentrate both on what Harry was seeing and what was going on around him. He was mildly surprised, but not at all appalled, by Harry's expert use of Imperio. Really, the strain it took Harry to control the young Weasley was probably equal to Tom's own. That, and he could feel a larger amount of Harry's magic flowing over him at all times. Still, it wasn't enough. It was like being allowed to taste his main course but not actually eat it, and Tom definitely wanted to eat it. He wanted to devour Harry's magic, surround himself with it until he could no longer tell whether or not the magic was his own. It was just that addicting. Of course, it would be his magic. Every follower's magic belonged to him, was his. Soon enough, Harry Potter would be the same. Tom's wine red eyes opened to see Lucius bowing at the entrance of his chambers, waiting for permission to enter. Lucius was completely covered by his usual Deatheater's uniform, but his magical signature gave him away.
"Rise, Lucius, and state your reason for intruding." Tom watched with light amusement as a shiver of pleasure ran down the Malfoy's back. Not even the straightest man could resist his charm. Wizard and Muggle alike fell before him, many times without him needing to lift a finger. Even many, if not all, of his followers had thrown themselves at him at one time or another. If they were good enough, if Tom was bored enough, he would allow them into his bed. Right now, the only one he wanted in his bed was Harry Potter. Physical contact was the best way to feel someone else's magic, and sex was the closest that one could physically get to another person. He was sure that after he had fucked the Potter boy a time or seven that his interests would wear off. By then, the Gryffindor Golden Boy would be nothing more than a sniveling dog, begging for his attention at every turn. Harry would be worth the same as the minions at his feet right then. Tom had little time for spineless imbeciles without a thought of their own. They were useful, yes, but unworthy of his time nonetheless. Harry Potter was nothing special, simply lucky.
"I'm sorry, my Lord, but Draco has come up with an exceptional idea that I'm positive you'll be interested to hear." The Malfoy arrogance reared its head as Lucius spoke, making Tom's eyes narrow ever so slightly. Too often, the elder Malfoy tried to overstep his boundaries.
"Are you sure about that, Lucius? Do you really know me so well that you can say whether or not I would enjoy hearing of your son's – who has seen a mere seventeen summers – pathetic scheme?" Tom kept his voice level, calm, as he watched Lucius react. He watched over a half empty glass of red wine as Lucius's magic spiked up in fear. The Malfoy had realized his mistake, but that was a realization that came too late. Tom watched passively as Lucius crumbled back to the floor, back to his proper place at Tom's feet, under a nonverbal Crucio. Revolts happened simply because insubordination was not dealt with as soon as it arose. There would be no revolts under the rule of Lord Voldemort. Minutes later, after Tom's sadistic streak was momentarily satisfied, Tom lifted the curse and simply watched the mentally younger male pant on the floor.
"Rise, Lucius, and try again. I am a tolerant man, but not so tolerant that I will waste my precious time while you reel in your ego." Slowly and on unsteady feet, Lucius stood.
"I apologize. Please, forgive me, my Lord." His voice was still hoarse from screaming, but Tom ignored that, favoring to instead watch the smallest of tremors, the fear and pain which Lucius was trying so hard to hide, shake the eldest Malfoy's body.
"One more time, Lucius, and you'll wish that your punishment was a simple Cruciatus Curse." Tom's voice held only boredom, but the threat was not the least bit subtle. Crimson eyes were glaciers of blood, cold and uncaring; malicious and sadistic; the ultimate weapon. Lucius didn't dare look up, for as stupid as the man was when it came to his position in the world, he was extremely smart.
"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord." Tom took a second to take in the great Lucius Malfoy groveling at his feet, well aware that the entire world would be doing the same thing in no time flat, before speaking again.
"Continue." It was all Tom had to say for Lucius to do just that, to speak like he hadn't been writhing in pain on the floor mere minutes ago. Tom leaned back marginally in his large, throne-like-chair to listen comfortably, still sipping lightly at his wine.
"Draco has discovered that Mr. Potter may or may not be an," Lucius paused, seeming to search for the correct word, before continuing, "adequate duelist. To test this, as well as help relieve him from the Light's clutches, my son is planning on asking Severus to schedule a dueling tournament. Albus will surely agree, as he trusts Severus completely." A tinge of smugness snuck into Lucius's voice, though Tom was sure that the physically older male didn't notice it. For that reason, the Dark Lord ignored the tone. That, and out of amusement. He had just seen Harry wandlessly cast a perfect Imperius curse. What imbecile suspected Harry to be a bad duelist?
"And who, pray tell, is your son's source?" It was true that Tom had never actually had the pleasure of dueling Harry, but the rest of the world didn't know that. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Harry had dueled Tom at least four times now and had either won or ended it in a draw.
"Ronald Weasley, the boy's best friend. At least, Potter believes that they are best friends. It seems that the young red head has turned on him." Lucius finished with a tone suggesting that this was valuable information, but Tom didn't respond. He left Lucius standing in front of his throne, head bowed in submission, while he thought on the boy. Harry obviously knew of the youngest male Weasley's betrayal, if not about his plans. Tom's newest dog was a bit dense around the edges but certainly not stupid. Still, the chance to witness Harry's magic firsthand once more wasn't an opportunity that Tom was about to pass up.
"Very well then. Proceed." There was no need for Lucius to know that he was completely wrong in his assumptions about Harry Potter, not when Tom could watch his face twist in horror as he found out himself. Tom would have to make sure that Draco would be Harry's first opponent. Lucius would learn his place one way or another; even if that meant throwing his son to the wolves. Nay, the Gryffindors. Lucius placed his body on the ground, his face flat against the floor in respect to his Lord, unaware that Tom thought less of Lucius than the dirt he walked on. It didn't matter how hard the pure blood worked. They would never be equals. No one could ever be Tom Marvolo Riddle's equal.
"Thank you, my Lord." Lucius's voice cracked only a little as he finally began to get over his dose of Crucio. Tom left Lucius on the ground for a full minute longer, enjoying the sight of what the world considered to be a great man on his hands and knees.
"Rise, Lucius, and leave me." Tom watched as Lucius got to his feet, giving one last bow and a muttered 'Yes, my Lord,' before leaving. Lucius was one of his better bred dogs, but not the best. No, not nearly his best, but there, and Tom was raising even better dogs right then. He supposed his two best, grown dogs were Severus Snape and Rudolphus Lestrange. If he had to choose between the two, Rudolphus would definitely be the one; the man had even kept a close watch on the insane Bellatrix Black under the guise of marriage. The two dogs that he was raising to take their places were Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. Really, the Dark Lord was nothing more than an expert breeder, turning the world into well behaved dogs. Tom gave the empty room a pleasured smirk as he leaned almost lazily back into his chair and turned his full attentions back on Harry Potter. Soon, the boy would bend to his will, grovel at his feet, and beg for a second glance, just like the rest of them. He watched the boy work as if he was in the room, leaning languidly against a table which had lost more than half of its ingredients. The boy worked with a certain grace about him that Tom itched to figure out. It wasn't regal like the Malfoy's, but it wasn't plebian like the Weasleys' either.
Harry's posture said that he both respected and discarded himself, as if he cared what happened to himself, but not much. Still, the meticulous way he went through the items on the tables would make Severus proud. He doubted that Draco could have done the same, at least, not to that extent. Tom glanced over at the Weasley boy who sat on the dungeon floor, cleaning the cauldrons like a mindless drone he was. Tom wondered what the great Albus Dumbledore would say if he saw his Savior using an Unforgivable. The old coot probably hadn't even considered that a possibility. In fact, Tom wouldn't be surprised if the man still believed that Tom had used Horcruxes! Using such a thing would have been disgracefully stupid. It was true that it was an accident of nature that his soul had stayed on the earth instead of leaving to whatever plane of existence the deceased went to, but no one other than Tom knew that.
While a wandering soul, Tom had searched, made his temporary bodies search, for a way to stay alive. Eventually, he had found an answer. Magic. He found out that magic both allowed wizards and witches to live and killed them. It was all in the magical core, the pure magical core pulling at the stings of pure magic that kept the human body sewed together. Swiftly, he had found a way to change that. He would die because his dark magic wanted to eat away at his pure magical core, so what would happen if his magical core wasn't pure? What if the seems that sewed him together were made of the same magic that his body continuously produced, of dark magic? Swiftly, Tom had come up with the correct magical formula to do just that. He had chosen a set age; an age he wouldn't mind being for the rest of all eternity, and gotten Pettigrew to complete the formula. Now, he was unlike any other person on Earth; he was immortal. It was all thanks to his dark magical core, to the dark magic stitching his body together. And then he had laid out clues for Albus to find; to lead the old man to think that he had stupidly, ignorantly, split his soul; into seven pieces, nonetheless! Tom had only half expected the old fool to fall for it. Then again, the spell that he had put on his old journal to project his sixteen year old self had been incredibly convincing.
The mere thought of the old man had Tom's magic lashing out a bit, only enough for Tom to just barely feel. Yet, at that moment, Harry froze. An instant later Tom was looking straight into the greenest eyes he had ever seen. A small frown appeared on Harry's face before Tom felt an incredible force pushing him backwards. Crimson eyes snapped open back in Tom's Throne Room. The magic in the air, the pure, whimsical magic that had been around him ever since he had gotten his body back was suddenly gone, and Tom found it just a bit harder to breath. Quickly, he searched through his mind, trying to find their connection, but it was gone. No, it wasn't gone, simply closed. Harry had blocked him out. That could only mean that the young Potter was a skilled Occlumens. Did he have Legilimens skills to match? It was an unexpected twist that Tom was none too fond of. The magic; Harry's magic, his magic was gone from the world around him, and Tom didn't like it; not one little bit. With a sneer, Tom leaned back. It would take days for them to set up the tournament; at least two. Which meant that the tournament could be held on Friday, if they started now. Tournaments had spectators, didn't they? Tom's sneer flipped to a devious smirk as he drained the last of his wine from the crystal goblet. If Harry thought that he had escaped, he was dead wrong.
(***Harry Potter***)
Harry continued to put away ingredients at a faster pace. He only had two hours left and was less than halfway done. Besides, his little visit from Voldemort hadn't helped at all. It seemed as though the immortal man had finally caught on to their connection. That saddened Harry as it meant that his nightly visits were over. He could no longer enjoy watching Voldemort dominate the lands or simply sit back in his throne and drink. More than that, Harry could no longer feel Voldemort's dark, almost overpowering magic in the air. The heavy sensation of Voldemort's magic, like an extreme hot and an extreme cold mixing without turning to simple warmth, was gone. It had been a part of Harry's daily life for seven years now. To be without it just felt wrong.
Still, it had to be done. He couldn't let Voldemort see what his everyday life was like, what his thoughts on the war were. For all Harry knew, Voldemort had figured out what Harry couldn't: how to use the connection without sleeping. All in all, Harry was just glad he had found Voldemort when he had. He had felt the magic flow through more easily a few hours ago, but Harry hadn't suspected that the Dark Lord had found a way through. He hadn't suspected it until he had felt the magic fluctuate. If there was one thing that Voldemort's magic had never done before, it was fluctuate. Magic could only do so around the person whom it belonged to. There was no way that it could do so without a subconscious command, especially not so far from its master. Harry's hand reached forward to grab at air. Green eyes glanced up in surprise. He was finished? Harry fully lifted his head, looking around this time. He was finished. A quick Tempus Charm told Harry that he had only seven minutes left until midnight. As soon as the magical numbers faded from the air, Harry glanced over at Ron. The boy was standing dumbly next to the now clean cauldrons.
"Come here." Ron's vacant eyes blinked as he followed Harry's command. As soon as Ron reached the spot in front of Harry, Harry walked over to where Ron had been standing and effortlessly lifted the curse.
"Why shouldn't we switch! That Slimy Git doesn't have to know!" Ron shouted while looking around, trying to spot Harry. When blue eyes finally met green, Harry forced himself to look confused.
"We did switch, Ron, and you were right. You did it a lot better than I could have." Harry's soft voice travelled throughout the room, and, once again, Ron looked around the room. Slowly, s smug smirk made its way to Ron's face.
"Yeah… Yeah! I told you so! And I didn't even have to think about what I was doing! Ha, I bet you feel pretty stupid now…" As Ron finished his little speech, Harry had to fight back a chuckle. If there was one thing that Harry didn't feel, it was stupid. The green eyed male didn't have to answer as the double doors slammed open, Snape appearing in their place. The professor surveyed the room, eyes narrowing slightly as he saw the boys on the opposite ends of the room that they were supposed to be. Harry just tossed out a nervous smile. Snape's eyes narrowed even more at the small gesture, but no other reaction was given.
"Everything seems to be in order… Very well then; go." Ron didn't waste time, darting from the room the minute Snape finished his sentence. Harry walked out at a much more leisure pace, already dreaming of his nice, warm bed.
(***Narcissa Malfoy***)
"Our son? What do you mean our son?" Narcissa was not happy. How could Lucius even so much as think about offering their son to the Dark Lord?
"I mean exactly what I said, Narcissa. We cannot deny the Dark Lord what he wants, and I'm nearly positive that he wants Draco." Lucius sounded almost excited at the prospect of giving up their son to the other man. Narcissa's left hand curled into a fist with almost enough force for her fingernails to draw blood. She hated it when Lucius did that: pushed aside the good of their family for a promise of wealth and power. The man that she had married had been so much kinder, cared so much more…
"You can't do that, Lucius. I won't let-" A sharp smack had Narcissa's head snapping to the left, her face bleeding lightly from where the Malfoy family ring had scraped across pale skin.
"You can do nothing! If the Dark Lord desires Draco then he will get Draco. If you stand in his way then he will kill you. Those are the facts, Narcissa. The sooner you learn that, the better." His cold tone made Narcissa snarl and stand, her hand wrapping coolly around her wand as she positioned it at her husband's neck.
"Then he can step over my dead body. I may have entrusted our son to Severus, but Severus is the only one. Now get out of my sights before I do something that you'll regret." Lucius's silver-grey eyes narrowed in silent fury before he gave a stiff nod and turned to walk in the other direction. As the large, marvelously carved door slammed shut, Narcissa allowed her weakness to show. She shook lightly as she tried to uncurl her hand, which had been gripping at her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white, but she couldn't find it in herself to do it. If Lucius decided to walk back in then she had to be on her guard. Narcissa had tried to make their marriage work; she really had, but it was getting to be too much.
If the Dark Lord really did want her son, and Lucius was willing to, when it came down to it, give her son to the man, then Narcissa was prepared to leave. She would pack her things, get Draco, and walk out the door. Sirius would welcome her, and she believed that Remus would do the same. She smiled a little at the thought of the werewolf. The man was much like Lucius had been during their private moments, just after they had fallen in love. Lucius had been gentle, kind, and compassionate, at least to her. Sure, she had wished that he would show that to the rest of the world, let them know that he cared, but he hadn't. And now it was ending. Yet she wasn't going to allow herself to play the victim in all of this. She had a son to take care of, and nothing would stand in the way of that.
(***Hermione Granger***)
Hermione sat in the library with her new favorite book, completely lost in its many entrancing pages. She had skipped breakfast to get another look at it, not trusting Ron with his food. Hermione looked up only when she felt a presence beside her, right after finishing the paragraph, of course. The moment she looked up, her pretty brown eyes met with Blaise's. His eyes were so dark a brown that they were nearly black. Or maybe they were black? Hermione had never looked close enough to really notice before. Out of her periphial vision, Hermione saw a soft smirk make its way to Blaise's lips. She blushed, realizing that she had been staring, before glancing away.
"Um, hullo, Zabini." Why was he here?
"Please, Hermione, call me Blaise." Blaise said Hermione's name as if he were tasting it on his tongue, seeing if he liked how it sounded. To Hermione, the only word that could describe it was sensual. A shiver of pleasure shot down her spine.
"But- Harry doesn't even call you Blaise, and he's much closer to you than I-" Blaise cut her off without hesitation, but Hermione couldn't find it in herself to reprimand him as she would have Ron.
"Our relationship is much too…formal for that. Besides, Potter isn't a lovely young maiden." His smirk widened just a bit, drawing Hermione's eyes down to his lips once more. Quickly, she snapped her eyes upwards once more, hoping to Merlin that he hadn't noticed.
"Oh, well, um, Blaise it is then! So… is there something I can help you with?" Hermione bit her bottom lip, inevitably drawing it into her mouth. Why in the world was she so nervous around him? His dark, beautiful eyes traveled down to her lips, and then to her neck line, before making a slow journey back up to her eyes.
"No, not yet." And then he stood, just like that, and sauntered out the door. Hermione blinked in confusion, her book forgotten on the table. What was that about? Swiftly, she pushed the book into her shoulder bag, hoping that the heat would leave her face by the time she got to the dungeons.
(***Harry Potter***)
The first thing that Harry noticed as he walked into Professor Snape's classroom was Hermione with her nose buried in a book; literally. Harry couldn't see Hermione through the book which was pressed against the skin of her face. With an odd smile, Harry sat his things down beside of her and took a seat.
"Hermione?" He questioned, only a little concerned.
"Yes, Harry?" Her words were muffled by the large potions book (Advanced Potions for the Experimental Wizard: Volume 7) but just barely.
"Why are you hiding behind your book?" He thought it was a fairly reasonable question.
"I'm not!" Hermione's words, still muffled by the book, told him that she didn't share his sentiments.
"I believe that you are, actually." Harry smiled while saying this, thoroughly enjoying their conversation. Hermione lowered her book faster than Harry could say 'Merlin,' and shot Harry a glare.
"No! I'm-" Hermione's glare turned soft as her eyes darted to the side where movement could be seen. Quickly, he face was back in the book. Harry looked to where she had glanced, his smile growing wider as he spotted a nonchalant Blaise Zabini speaking in soft tones to Draco Malfoy. The Italian's dark eyes glanced over at the hidden Hermione before travelling over to Harry. The glint that the elder boy's eyes had gained when on Hermione, the same glint that they had gotten since the beginning of second semester their Fourth year, told Harry that he was the reason for her hiding in the book. It was the same caring, wanting glint that Harry hoped that someone would hold for him one day. Harry tossed Blaise a quick smile before leaning down to Hermione's ear, the only thing not hidden by her Potions book.
"Blaise Zabini?" She gave a small noise in response to his question-like statement and confirmed his suspicions completely. "I thought you didn't like anyone." The book slammed onto the desk, Hermione's face aflame underneath.
"Harry James Potter!" If the book slam hadn't gotten the rest of the room's attention then that shout had. Harry's smile didn't drop, or even waver.
"Yes?" She shot him a glare at his unconcerned answer.
"You stop it right now or I swear to Merlin that I will throw you to Voldemort myself!" A few people in the room gasped at the use of Voldemort's name, but Harry just kept smiling.
"It's not my fault you're so obvious about your crushes." He offered a small shrug and, just before she could snarl out a response, the doors banged open. Harry glanced up to see Snape looking at them in distaste.
"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Snape questioned as if they were purposefully wasting his time. Who knew, maybe they were? By this time, Harry couldn't tell whether her blush was from embarrassment or anger.
"No, Sir." Her head was down, but her eyes were still glaring at Harry. "Very well." And he continued to the front of the room, just like that; no point deduction, no anything! Harry leaned towards Hermione and whispered something, just before Snape turned around.
"Has he snogged you yet?" The words were so quiet that Harry hardly heard them himself, but he was sure that Hermione had by her next action. Quicker than Harry was sure even Voldemort could have, she stood, slamming her hands onto the desk.
"Harry!" Under the weight of both Hermione and Snape's glares, Harry began to laugh.
(***Severus Snape***)
Severus watched the two Gryffindors with his coldest glare. Granger looked simply appalled at her own actions while Potter continued to laugh. The Potions Master opened his mouth to snap at them when someone else's, much happier, voice beat him to it.
"Ah, the joys of potion making. Is it always this fun in here, Severus?" Dumbledore's light laugh followed his words, making Severus's mouth snap shut. In an instant, he was sneering.
"I'm afraid not." What did the old fool want now?
"That's too bad then, isn't it?" The Headmaster didn't sound disappointed at all. "I just wanted to speak to you about that marvelous idea you had this morning." Snape cocked an eyebrow ever so slightly at his words. So soon? "You see, children, your Potions Professor has proposed we have a duel, this Friday, to make sure that you're all prepared for anything that life may throw at you." His jolly tone had Severus's sneer deepening.
"Um, Professor?" Potter's nearly shy voice questioned.
"Yes, my boy?" The old man asked, turning his twinkling blue eyes in the direction of what was supposed to be their Savior, his much-too-long white beard turning with him. Half-moon spectacles reflected what little light was in the room, giving him the looks of a cheery old man. Severus wasn't fooled.
"Is competing mandatory? Because dueling isn't exactly my best subject, if you know what I mean…" Potter gave a disturbingly soft smile, one that Severus may have fallen for if he hadn't known the boy's father or how the last Potter child was pampered at every turn by both his muggle relatives and the rest of the Wizarding World. Harry James Potter was nothing but a spoiled brat as far as he was concerned. Some would argue that Draco was the exact same, but Severyus knew better; knew that the boy had hopes and dreams that surpassed the expectations of others by far. Draco was, by no means, a stupid child. The Headmaster gave a small chuckle.
"I'm afraid it is, my boy, you of all people should know the importance of being kept on your toes. But you mustn't worry about such trivial matters. It will begin for all Seventh year potions students as well as others who would simply enjoy participating and will begin just after dinner." Without another word, Albus turned to leave. Thank Merlin. Just as he put his hand on the door, he turned his head. "Oh, and one more thing," his jolly smile turned back around to face the students, eyes twinkling as if trying to put the stars in the sky to shame, "have fun." A nice, happy chuckle followed the old man out of the room. Severus glared hard enough at the door that he thought – hoped, really – that holes would be burned right through it. All of the children burst into excited – or not so excited, in some cases – chatter. Said chatter grated on Severus's nerves like nothing else. Why had he agreed to become a teacher, again? Not actually wanting to remember the answer, Severus turned his glare on the students.
"I realize that all of this excitement is probably overloading your useless little minds, but the next person who says a word can write themselves up for double detention with Mr. Filch tonight." The class went completely, blissfully, silent. "Now that we have only an hour and ten minutes left, you have no time to waste." With a swish of his wand, the instructions for their next potion was put onto the board. It would take approximately an hour and seven minutes to brew. They had better get working.
(***Hermione Granger***)
Hermione watched Harry as they walked to Advanced Transfiguration of the Human Body with worried brown eyes. She knew why he didn't want to duel. If people saw him duel then they'd look at him with the same fear in their eyes as they did whenever they got a glance of Voldemort. They would see how powerful Harry was, how much control he had over his body, and they would cower. If Hermione didn't know Harry as well as she did, how insecure he actually was on the inside, then she would probably cower, too.
"It'll be fine. You can just let the first person beat you. No one will think anything of it." Hermione knew this was a bad plan even as she said it, but she had to try.
"No, Hermione. If I flunk this then people will panic; millions of people will panic. It'll be absolute chaos, and I just couldn't do that." She knew that. She knew that even before he said it. He was just too kind. They would look to him for protection and then, once his duty had been done, they would banish him. She looked at his downcast eyes sadly. They would banish him if he were lucky. "Hermione, you'll still take Joshua, right? Even without him?" Hermione knew that Harry was, even now, in his darkest hours, worrying about others, and that only made things worse. He would be so much easier to lose if he was a horrible, rude man. The youngest Granger squeezed her eyes shut as she sat down. If he were different, then the circumstances would be different, but wasn't, and they weren't. Why did the worst things always have to happen to the best people? Why did the worst things always have to happen to Harry?
"I will." Hermione paused for a moment, glancing around the empty room. "So, you're really going to go through with this? You can't just… I don't know! Get sick or something?" Hermione was trying; really she was. By the sad smile on Harry's face, he knew it, too.
"No, Hermione. Look, just, don't worry about it, okay?" Hermione hated the comforting tone of his voice; hated the fact that he was calming her nerves even now, even when she couldn't do anywhere near the same thing for him. At that moment, Voldemort, in all of his beautifully handsome glory, flashed through her mind. Maybe they would get lucky, and he would change his mind about killing Harry. She was being stupid, she knew, but it was all she could think of.
"Oh, Harry. We both know that there's no way I'm going to stop worrying about it, but I'll stop talking about it if you'd like, alright?" His green eyes lit up and darkened at the same time, showing his unease and grateful attitude simultaneously.
"I think that I can live with that."